Page 97 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
The change happens gradually, then all at once.
Janice moves through the penthouse with a confidence that wasn’t there a month ago. She no longer hesitates before entering rooms, no longer seeks permission with her eyes before speaking. When Oleg and Felix arrive for morning briefings, she pours coffee without asking, settles into discussions about territory disputes and revenue projections like she’s always belonged there.
“The Williamsburg situation is escalating,” Felix says, spreading documents across the dining table. “Residents are organizing. There’s talk of a lawsuit.”
“Let them sue,” Oleg dismisses. “We have the permits. They have complaints.”
“Public opinion matters,” Janice interjects. Both men turn to look at her. “Lawsuits we can win legally. The court of public perception is harder. One viral video of displaced families, one sympathetic news story, and suddenly every project you have faces scrutiny.”
“So what do you suggest?” Felix asks, genuinely curious.
“Community investment. Dedicate ground floor space to local businesses at reduced rent. Fund a playground. Something visible that says you’re buildingwiththem, not justoverthem.” She sips her coffee. “It costs less than the PR damage from a prolonged fight.”
Oleg looks skeptical. “That’s not how we operate.”
“Maybe it should be.” She meets his gaze steadily. “You want to keep making money in this city? You need the city to tolerate you. Smart investment now prevents expensive problems later.”
Silence settles. I watch the exchange without commenting, curious how this plays out.
“She’s not wrong,” Felix says finally. “The optics alone would be valuable.”
Oleg grunts, which from him counts as agreement. The conversation moves on, but I catch Felix’s glance—acknowledging what just happened. Janice didn’t ask permission to speak. Didn’t defer to me for approval. Just offered strategic advice that both men are clearly considering.
She belongs here now.
Later that afternoon, I’m in my study when raised voices carry from the hallway. I move to investigate and find Janice facing off with Taras, one of my senior lieutenants, a man who’s been with the family for fifteen years.
“Mrs. Rudenko,” Taras’s tone drips condescension. “Perhaps you should leave security decisions to those with experience.”
“Perhaps you should explain why you reassigned guards from the east perimeter without authorization,” Janice counters, arms crossed. “That’s a direct violation of the rotation protocol Dimitri established.”
“I made a judgment call. The west side needed—”
“The west side has adequate coverage. The east perimeter has had three incidents in the past month. Leaving it undermanned isn’t a judgment call; it’s negligence.” Her voice stays level, but steel runs underneath. “You want to make changes to security protocols? Bring them to Felix. Don’t just decide you know better than the system in place.”
Taras’s face flushes. “You’ve been here five minutes. You don’t understand.”
“I understand that you’re testing whether I’ll notice when you break established rules. I understand that you think being here longer gives you the right to dismiss oversight.” She steps closer, and remarkably, Taras actually retreats. “I’m not dismissing you. I’m not reporting this to Dimitri. I’m telling you directly: follow the protocols or explain to him why you think they don’t apply to you. Your choice.”
The hallway goes quiet. Taras’s jaw works, calculating whether to push back or back down. He glances past Janice, sees me watching from the study doorway.
“Understood, Mrs. Rudenko,” he says finally, stiff with barely controlled anger. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good.” Janice’s voice softens slightly. “You’ve been doing this a long time, Taras. I’m not trying to undermine that. I’m trying to maintain the systems that keep everyone safe. Including you.”
She walks past him without waiting for acknowledgment, heading toward the library. Taras stands frozen for a moment, then catches my eye.
“She’s… ” He stops, searching for words. “She’s learning fast.”
“Yes,” I agree. “She is.”
He leaves, and I return to my study, something unfamiliar tightening in my chest. Pride, maybe. Or recognition that the woman I forced into this marriage is claiming space I didn’t give her permission to occupy.
She’s not asking anymore. She’s taking.
***
That evening, I find Janice in the library with Misha curled in her lap. She’s staring out the window at the city lights, expression distant.
